An Impossible Situation
by Crimson and Purple
Summary: Lady Mary discovers new feelings for Carson.


_I have scanned Downton Abbey fanfic far and wide and have not yet come across - until today - thanks to paimpont, this pairing anywhere, hence the reason I am starting out with trepidation. If you want more, i.e. the response is fair to middling, let me know, then I will happily continue this story. If not, well, I will forever bemoan the fact there isn't ANY of this particular pairing out there other than this lonely little effort and paimpont's. Its a relationship begging to be explored and written. It is so obvious. IF I have committed the unpardonable, sincere apologies. If its received with favour, then I sincerely hope it will spawn more of this pairing. _

_I know I may be committing the unpardonable by writing this fanfic, possibly upsetting the established Carson/Hughes relationship fanfic lore; but here goes, _

_This story is set pre-Pamuk. _

An Impossible Situation.

When it happened I really can't say. After all, Carson has always been there; always. As a little child I truly believe I had more, _play-time,_ with Carson than with my own dear Papa; but then Papa is so busy, always occupied, always in demand. After all when ones own father is the Earl of Grantham, heir and current inhabitant of Downton Abbey, there is so little time to spend with children, of which he has three -daughters, and I, Lady Mary, am the eldest. With a grand estate the size and importance of Downton to oversee, along with the perpetual social demands constantly draining what little spare time Mama and Papa have, I quite understand their situation entirely, their duties, the endless demands on their time. It's all really quite plainly obvious. Therefore if anyone were to ask if I bear any grudge or animosity toward them at all regarding their limited attention in my formative years, I would simply reply, no, not at all. I have enjoyed plenty of adequate affection from them, I know they love me, and always supportive. Unfortunately my two younger sisters often accuse me - particularly Edith during one of our classic disagreements - of being coldly detached, indifferent and even utterly hard-hearted, which is complete nonsense, however the reason I suppose I have earned this somewhat unflattering reputation is that I am my own woman. Though I love my parents dearly and fiercely loyal to them and Downton, I have on many occasions created some rather explosive situations, arguments and difference of opinions between my parents or dear sisters over the years.

But with Carson I am different. Alas those days have long gone by when I used to seek him out to play and he always, no matter how busy he was, always had time for me. Often I would run down to the servants area searching for him and badger him to play hide and seek, or to draw pictures with me or sing songs, or help me to understand those annoying complications in life only a spirited and headstrong child such as I could come up with; such as why are my sisters such a nuisance sometimes, or why did I have to go to church; but the best times of all were in his office. I would present him with a story book and would climb upon his lap, my legs across his thighs and my feet dangling. I'd rest against his big broad chest and hear his deep baritone rumbling as he read me stories such as Dickens wonderful, Christmas Carol, or stories from Grimm's Fairy Tales or Treasure Island, so often making me laugh when he would act out the voices of the characters. It was so soothing, so comforting and many a time I would suddenly find myself in my bed having woken and realised Nanny had rescued Carson from me at some point and put me to bed. Other great favourites were in the summer when I would catch him returning from some duty that required him outside in the grounds, and after my begging and pleading he would lift me high, so very exhilaratingly high and sit me on his broad shoulders, my legs dangling on his chest as he put his arm across them to hold me safe, my small hands grasping his chin like some sort of fleshy sticky chinstrap, hanging on and giggling excitedly as he walked back to the house. Carson is tall anyway but to a child he was like a tower. He is still a tower now, a tower of strength to me: very tall, very solid, undeniably resilient, enduring: forever there.

But now, now when I think back to those happy carefree times, the sitting upon his lap, laying my body against his chest, my head tucked in that space between his neck and shoulder, his strong arms about me as he held the book, I get the most curious strange and rather embarrassing feelings. More so when I think of the times seated upon his thickset shoulders. Sometimes when he would walk beneath the trees, in my childish excitement I would reach up to try and touch the leaves and branches and in doing so press the lower half of my body - more precisely the juncture of my thighs - against the back of his bullish neck and head. I can still clearly feel the sensations now as I lay in my bed, though as a child I felt nothing, other than the security he was there holding me. Now however, I feel something completely different and its making my body flame, and stoking a need that is almost like a craving hunger. My body simply aches for Mr. Carson! The revelation caused me to suddenly laugh at the sheer absurdity of it.

Where has this nonsense come from? What a ridiculous notion!

I recall the time vividly when I was twelve years old when our ever efficient housekeeper Mrs. Hughes shooed me away from Carson when he was up a ladder retrieving a large heavy box from the top shelf in one of the corridors. It was Christmas time and the servants were all excited wanting to put up the decorations in their quarters. The big box Carson was removing housed an angel, a prized possession of the servants and almost as old as Downton itself, hence the reason Carson only was the one to retrieve it and put it away in its safe place. I have resented the woman ever since and know full well she does not particularly favour me either; but I must confess she does her job very well, she's frighteningly efficient and my parents are more than pleased with her and in all honesty I have no real reason to complain. Other than she guards over Carson, when on the rare occasion now that I venture below stairs, she more often than not hovers near him like some over protective highland terrier. It is only that I am Lady Mary, the daughter of Lord and Lady Grantham that she is forced to bite her tongue, but I see there is much she would like to say to me. The disapproval in her eyes, her mouth compressed into a tight line, and whenever she can get away with it, tries to craftily block my seeing Carson with some feeble excuse or another. I complained once to my parents about her and received no sympathy at all, in fact quite the reverse. Rather tersely I was told to stop annoying the servants and that downstairs was not a play area and was off limits. Mr. Carson was too busy they said, for me to waste his time. But he wasn't, he always made time for me because he wanted too, it was not an act of duty, or a pretense because he was our butler in our employ, it was genuine, honest affection. From that time onward, and to this day, I am careful when and where I seek out Carson, and the moments when I can catch him alone were and are still rare. She thought I wasn't in earshot but I heard Mrs. Hughes state I treated Carson as a surrogate father. At twelve years of age I didn't know what surrogate meant, until I looked the word up in a dictionary in the library. I was furious. Carson was not a substitute father. A friend, a confidante, a play-mate; but certainly not my father. I had one father, my Papa and no one, not even Carson could ever be a replacement to him! Besides, the feelings I was starting to experience toward Carson just lately were certainly not what one would feel toward ones father! The very thought was repugnant to me.

I had no one to discuss this with. I certainly could not discuss it with Anna. Though my maid I consider her a confidante but in this instance I can hardly confide in her my sudden and inexplicable urgings toward Carson.

I turned over onto my side, but sleep eluded me. My body felt so sensitive. Although my knowledge on sex was very limited indeed, what little I knew was confusing and very bewildering. The whispered gossip I used to hear at school just made it even more of a head spinning conundrum. I knew these feelings within my body was to do with my thoughts on Carson because they always coincided, but what could I do with them? I have had few gentleman friends and those that have tried to court me have not been successful, even my cousin, tragically drowned with the sinking of the Titanic tried to flame my interest. It was only through ones duty to the family I was even engaged to be married to him but all our courtship such that it was, was carefully orchestrated and chaperoned, and my body and heart felt nothing. Now my parents, even granny, everybody thinks I should be amiable to Matthew Crawley, a distant cousin in the hopes I may marry him. When Patrick went down with the Titanic this cousin Matthew three times removed, will be the new heir to Downton upon my fathers demise. Matthew Crawley is the only male heir. Because of some ridiculous ancient law I am prevented from inheriting the estate simply because I am female, despite the fact I am the first born child to the Earl of Grantham. It is by law that the heir to Downton must be a male. Though innocuous, Matthew is sweet in a dull way, undeniably handsome, but very conventional and quite boring and certainly does not make me feel as Carson is making me feel. In fact no one has ever made me feel as Carson makes me feel lately.

Annoyed with myself I flipped over again returning to my former position on my back and sighed, irritated. These feelings were driving me insane! In an act if reckless impulse I suddenly sat up and pulled my long nightgown up and over my head and tossed it to the floor. The cool air on my body was most welcome and I flopped back against the deep plump pillows, feeling wonderfully liberated and enjoying the illicit thrill of being naked in bed, yet rather than calm me, my body seemed to become even more sensitive, my flesh so acutely aware of the air temperature, the fine sheets against my back and legs.

To my extreme embarrassment and puzzlement I was becoming very aware of my breasts particularly my nipples. I knew they had became erect, I could feel them hardening, swelling, even sensitive, and with hesitation and a sense of shame I touched them lightly with my fingertips and immediately it created a sensation that made me gasp loudly, the pleasure I had been feeling was increased twofold and flew straight between my legs where I felt a hot and rapidly increasing wetness. I didn't know what was happening but it felt so good, and I very much wanted more.

I closed my eyes and immediately I saw Carson. Big, tall, broad and strong. Carson in his immaculate suit, starched shirt, upright collar, crisp white tie, highly polished black leather shoes. Standing sentinel, his face grim and serious, watching over us all. He was not what could be described as a handsome man, his features were too rugged, heavy and large, his was not the gentle refined features of the noble aristocrat. Though Carson was noble; in bearing, in stature, radiating from him in command of presence, his deep-set black eyes were ever watchful beneath thick heavy jet black eyebrows. His hair now graying at the temples was as black as pitch. Meticulously groomed and well turned out, Carson is a man of dignity and of unquestionable loyalty, even the rich baritone of his voice rumbled with unwavering integrity with every word he said.

Though the feelings radiating from massaging my swollen nipples sent the most marvelous feelings to the core of my femininity I couldn't help smiling to myself. Highly starched Carson, all buttoned up in his sense of duty, loyalty and self-discipline, would never dream of entertaining the kind of ideas toward me as I was having about him at this moment. I have heard hushed gossip from time to time that some of the aristocracy of fine estates such as Downton, had affairs with someone in service in the house. The mistress of the house might have a dalliance with the footman or butler, even the groom. Although it was quite shocking it was not uncommon but all kept very hush hush. Gossip of the master of some house carrying on with a maid or two was not unheard of either. The thing about aristocracy, we tend to hide our scandals, we close ranks and stick together unless there is someone on a vendetta. I wouldn't put that past my youngest sister Edith. She really does not like me at all, and waits for any opportunity to destroy me, socially. However, so far, to my knowledge, none of this scandalous behaviour goes on under Downton's roof. Perhaps I should set the trend!

My humour disappeared quickly as the ever increasing feelings I was experiencing touching myself and thinking of Carson grew ever stronger and quite seriously urgent. I gasped and writhed on the bed and with no experience to guide me, my actions driven by instinct and need, my hand tentatively reached down to my femininity where all the sensations seemed to focus and needed attention. Impatient with myself as modesty and need conflicted with each other, need won and I slipped my fingers in, and discovering a slick hot wetness I wondered for the moment if I had started menstruating but knew this could not be so. Like an itch that wasn't an itch, I cautiously rubbed and discovered a part of myself, tiny but so very very sensitive, was the very nucleus of such intense pleasure. As though taken over by some uncontrollable wanton force I gasped and groaned my pleasure, it felt so good, my whole being suddenly felt voluptuous, wanting. As the fingers of my left hand continued to rub and pinch my tender aching nipple, the fingers of my right hand rubbed with increasing speed and pressure amazed at how that miniscule nub of flesh could send such enormous and ever spiraling shockwaves of pleasure throughout my body that just seemed to build and build...

I was aware I was panting, my hips moving and undulating with a will of their own as I thought of Carson, the rare moments we had when I was able to speak with him, consult him over some trivia that concerned me, or the very, very rare times he had held me when I had cried after some silly argument with one of my sisters or my parents. I could feel his solid body, the strength in his arms as he held me to him gently but firmly, the feel of his warm, dry hand upon my shoulder, his voice...

"Carson!"

I felt I had exploded with astounding pleasure. For some reason at the pinnacle of this eruption I had cried out his name, and loudly, and I hoped no one had heard. Panicked that someone may have, I quickly leant out of the bed to grasp my nightgown and hurriedly slipped it over my head.

I could not believe what I had done any more than understand what had just happened to me, but my whole body thrilled with a feeling that was both exhilarating and slightly scary. What on earth happened? What was I going to do? Could I confess these feelings to Carson? How would he react? What would he say? I suddenly found myself facing a rather ridiculous and impossible situation.

The End?

_**AN**__. This story could continue if the interest is there. Please let me know. Think outside the box people! Its not beyond the realms of possibility that Lady Mary and Carson could have a relationship if they were allowed too and the surrogate father idea was scrapped. They are close, been friends for years, their chemistry is perfect, he is a man after all and she's a woman that needs a strong man like Carson. Sybil married the chauffer, let Carson and Mary have some fun. The Carson/Hughes relationship idea, though sweet is too predictable and cosy and carries no risks, dangers or taboos. Safe, predictable and cosy is not usually Downton's way. Mr. Fellowes, give poor Mr. Carson some excitement. If for whatever reason you should glance through FF now and again, please consider a Mary and Carson illicit affair! Fan fiction writers please consider a Mary and Carson illicit affair and all the problems and secrecy it would involve. There's plenty of mileage in that scenario!_


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